


The Competition Arc

by dracogotgame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Competition, First Kiss, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2019-03-31 05:16:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13968114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracogotgame/pseuds/dracogotgame
Summary: Malfoys don't deal well with losing.





	1. A Little Less Competition

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally published May-October 2012](https://dracogotgame.livejournal.com/tag/competition%20arc)

“Malfoy, I won fair and square. I didn’t cheat, I didn’t lie and I did not charm the Snitch to waltz into my hand, as you so kindly implied to Madam Hooch.  _Repeatedly_. Its 2 AM on a Monday night, and I am dead tired. Can I  _please_ go to bed now?”

“Not until you admit that you have an unfair advantage! How could anyone else spot the Snitch when your sodding, big head is in the way? I demand justice! And your head on a platter! But mostly justice...”

Harry prayed for patience. Again, he tried to reason with his incensed, possibly barking mad rival. “Malfoy, listen to me. It’s  _just_  a game. You win a few, you lose a few. Just because…”

“Because your big head was in the way!” Draco snarled, his entire body shaking with righteous indignation at the blatant injustice of it all. “I am not leaving until I get a rematch,  _Potter_!”

“Seriously, have you considered therapy?” Harry asked, completely exasperated. Honestly, there was a fine line between competitive and psychotic and Malfoy was tap dancing on it.

“I’ll give you a hundred galleons for a rematch!” Malfoy cut in desperately.

And now he had officially pole vaulted over the line, right into Crazy Town.

“No” Harry said firmly. He was  _not_ enabling this!

“How about Chess?”

“No”

“Exploding Snap?”

“No!”

“A race?”

Harry fought the urge to bang his head against the wall. Clearly, this wasn’t going to stop. “Fine!” he snapped finally “We’ll race.  _Once_. From here to the dungeons, and I call. Got it?”

Draco nodded and crouched, preparing to run. Harry got in position beside him as well.

“On your mark” he announced ominously “Get set. GO!”

Draco took off like a Firebolt with his litany of “You’ll never catch me! Never never  **never**!” fading away as he hurtled through the halls. Harry watched him blaze away with a look that was part amusement, part relief.

And then he bolted in the opposite direction, towards the Gryffindor Tower.

*****


	2. Of Bicycles and Bickering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's competitiveness gets out of hand. Fortunately Harry is around.

“ **BICYCLE! BICYCLE!** ”

“Stop it”

“I want to ride my bi-cy- **KAL** …”

“ _Stop._  It”

“I want to ride my biiiiike… _”_

“Malfoy- for the love of Merlin, put a sock in it!”

Harry seethed and cursed a blue streak as the blond ignored him in favour of yowling like a Kneazle on the wrong end of an  _Aguamenti_.  They were cycling down to Hogsmeade - one of Hermione’s bright ideas. She had decided that ‘it would be nice’ to transfigure some bicycles and ride into town instead of walking this time. The suggestion had been welcomed by most of the class. Even the Slytherins had been persuaded to try the curious Muggle contraptions.

Hence Harry’s current predicament.

“I want to ride my bi-cy- **KAL** , I want to ride it where I liiike” Malfoy bellowed, merrily sailing past him. The Gryffindor gritted his teeth and pedalled furiously. The prat had been cycling and singing for thirty minutes now and Harry was about ready to tear his hair out. When he found the bastard who had taught Malfoy that  _infuriating_  song…

He was mentally counting to ten for the fourth time when the blond in question started his horrific yodelling yet again “I want to ride my…”

“Don’t. You.  _Dare_  finish that!” Harry bit out through clenched teeth; the thunderous look on his face leaving no doubt that now would be a very good time to back down.

Obviously, Draco did  _not_  back down. “It’s a free country, Potter. I’ll sing if I want to” he said snottily, ringing his bell to make a point.

“Is that what you call it?” Harry snapped. “It sounds like a mandrake orgy!”

“Of course, I could be  _persuaded_  to stop” Draco mused airily.

Harry nodded almost desperately. At this point, Malfoy could have the bloody Sword of Gryffindor if he would just stop his bellyaching.

“We race till Hogsmeade!” the blond announced cheerfully “And no legging it like you did last time, you lazy git!” he added, scowling at the dark haired boy. Clearly, he was still upset by Harry’s escape during their last ‘race’. In the Gryffindor's defence - it was 3 in the morning and he had been in no mood to deal with Malfoy's particular brand of lunacy. Right now though, he was out of options.

“Fine” he relented “We’ll have the stupid race. Just don’t sing.  _Ever_ ”

Draco responded with a haughty lift of his chin. “I’ll call this time” he said “On your mark. Set. GO!”

“You prat! You started at set!” Harry yelled as he peddled furiously after the cheating bastard. They boys raced neck and neck, each out to win - Draco because he was competitive to the point of maniacal, and Harry because he was just plain pissed off.

He didn’t remember when exactly the pushing began but he was pretty sure Draco started it. Nonetheless, they had started batting at each other in a desperate attempt to get ahead. Harry hadn’t even realised that their stupid tussling had gotten so out of hand but the next thing he knew, an extra hard shove had Draco careening off the road and colliding rather spectacularly with a tree.

“Shit!” Harry cried, his hero instincts kicking in as he dismounted from his bike and rushed to the blond lying by the road in a crumpled heap. “Malfoy!” he yelled, gripping hold of the prone Slytherin and shaking him frantically “Draco…say something! Talk to me!”

“Did I win?” Draco asked, blinking.

Harry gaped. “You  _absolute_ …yes, yes you won! Are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?” He checked the Slytherin over carefully, heart pounding in his chest. Draco didn’t seem hurt. He was obviously concussed though - because there was no way he would have voluntarily curled against Harry’s chest if he wasn’t. Or wrapped his arms around his neck. And Harry certainly wouldn't have rubbed his back making soft, crooning noises the whole time. Maybe they were both concussed. Yeah, that was probably it... 

“I think I hurt my ankle," Draco mumbled, shaking slightly "And…and I broke my bicycle” He sniffed and rubbed his eyes and all of Harry’s previous annoyance melted away at the sight of this infuriating, vulnerable, somewhat cute idiot nestled up against him. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around the blond and stroked his hair. Concussed or not, the stupid prat clearly needed some reassurance and Harry was - for reasons unknown - willing to oblige.

“It’s okay” he murmured soothingly “How about I take you back to the castle and Pomfrey can fix you up?”

Draco nodded but didn't let go. Harry allowed himself a small smile as he freed himself from the blond tangle and mounted his bike again. Draco returned his smile shyly and perched himself behind Harry, wrapping his slim arms around his middle. Harry shivered slightly at the sudden warmth against his back and with a soft sigh, he started peddling back to Hogwarts. The companionable silence lasted for all of five seconds before...

“I want to ride my bi-cy- **KAL** , I want to ride my biiiike…”

****


	3. The Amazing Archery of Draco Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has a new hobby.

All in all, letting Draco watch the Olympics had been a  _very_  bad idea.

“You bought an archery set?!” Harry shrieked in horror, pressing himself against a wall and looking very much like he wished he could go right through it. Why was he always cornered in classrooms when Malfoy pulled stunts like this?

“Of course I did! Isn't it brilliant?!” the blond grinned, hoisting up the bow clumsily and stringing in an arrow- a sharp, pointy and highly dangerous arrow- with  _very_  little regard for direction, in Harry’s opinion.

“Watch where you point that!” he yelled, flailing and holding up a chair for cover. Normally, Malfoy was a competitive lunatic with very little thought for health, safety and self preservation where a challenge was involved. Equipping said lunatic with sharp metal armoury was hardly what Harry would call an improvement.

He watched warily as the blond tried to prop his bow up, nearly tripping over it in the process.

“Why can’t you just play Solitaire?” Harry groaned despondently “Even  _you_  couldn’t kill anyone with a pack of cards!”

“Oh stop it, Potter” Draco huffed “Archery is the sport of nobles, so  _obviously_  I’m going to be a natural. Now stop gaping at me like that and help me practice!”

“How on  _earth_  am I supposed to help you practice?” Harry demanded.

“Well, Granger told me about some Muggle bloke called William Tell and I just happen to have an apple right here so… **Potter**! Get back here this instant!”

****

Not too far away, Minerva McGonagall was busy having a terse discussion with her colleague.

“Sybill, for the last time the students don’t  _need_  meditation as an added subject.”

“But Minerva, channelling the mind into a state of bliss and peace is not a matter to be left in the hands of novices. And in these dire times, violence and anger are feelings we can’t afford to…”

“Sybill, I want you to listen to me carefully. They are teenagers, not homicidal maniacs. They are happy, healthy and none- not even  _one_  of them- harbours violent tendencies or poses a danger to…”

**“Leave me alone, you lunatic! Get away, I say!”**

**“Potter! Stand still a minute so I can aim, you dodgy git!”**

The professors watched flabbergasted as Harry Potter careened down the hallway shrieking like a little girl. Draco Malfoy was at his heels- pursuing him like a man on a mission and armed with a bow and arrow.

Awkward silence hung in the air as they departed. It was Professor Trelawney who finally spoke up. “I’ll just get those yoga mats ready then, shall I?”

“Hurry, Sybill” Minerva sighed, rubbing her temples “Hurry.”

****


	4. The Perfect Pumpkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco is on a pumpkin carving mission and Harry needs to stop it.

Pansy strode into the eighth year common room, a furious expression painted across her delicate features. “Alright, which one of you tossers gave Draco a pumpkin?”

Immediately, every eye in the common room swiveled over to Blaise Zabini.

“What?” the Slytherin demanded, looking highly affronted. “So we’re just going to assume that everything is Blaise’s fault? What happened to the concept of a fair trial? Well, I will _not_ stand for this persecution! How dare you accuse me of…”

“Did you give Malfoy a pumpkin?” Hermione cut in dryly.

“Yes,” Blaise admitted, as Theo groaned and Pansy’s right eye twitched dangerously. “But in my defence, he had a carving knife. Jack o’ lantern or Blaise o’ lantern - take your pick. That was a rhetorical poll, Weasley!” he added with a scowl as Ron raised a hopeful hand. The redhead subsided sulkily.

“This is a disaster,” groaned Pansy, hiding her face in her hands.

“Sorry, but is there a reason we can’t give Malfoy a pumpkin?” Harry queried curiously. He had a feeling this would be interesting - Malfoy hadn't disappointed him yet.

Nott shrugged wearily. “The same reason we can’t give him a cross bow. You do remember that incident, don’t you Potter?”

Harry winced. He’d experienced Malfoy’s competitive nature first hand and knew exactly what the blond was capable of when he wanted to excel at something. To be fair, he did find Malfoy’s compulsive attitude somewhat… charming, maybe even cute. But there was no doubt that he had serious issues.

“Oh well,” Blaise shrugged cheerfully at his sulking classmates. “No pumpkins this year. Who wants to go carve up some Hufflepuffs instead?”

Pansy gave him a stern look. “You didn’t take your medicine this morning, did you?”

“What are you, my mother?”

Harry shook his head and slipped out of the room, leaving the rest to deal with Zabini’s homicidal tendencies.

There was only room for so many crazy Slytherins in his day, and Harry was completely booked.

****

It took him ten minutes to track down Malfoy. The pumpkin patch looked rather nice at this time of year. Hagrid had been hard at work and the pumpkins were enormous. Some of them were large enough to dwarf the slender blond who sat cross legged in the dirt; working diligently on what Harry estimated was his thirty fifth pumpkin. A huge pile of carved up, discarded jack o’ lanterns loomed behind Malfoy.

Oh Dear Lord…

“Malfoy?”

The blond looked up at him, apparently startled. Harry blinked in surprise himself. Seeing Malfoy sitting unabashedly in the dirt, staring at him with large, grey eyes and haphazard hair was enough to take a bloke by surprise. That was all. It certainly didn’t warm Harry’s heart a little or make him want to smooth said hair with his fingers.

Nope. Not even a little bit.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably and approached the blond. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Malfoy sneered, giving Harry some familiar ground to work with. “What does it look like I’m doing, Potter? Surely even you can discern pumpkin carving when you see it.” He went back to his meticulous task, ignoring the Gryffindor as he came closer to peer at his work. Harry’s eyebrows rose in amazement at the sight of the intricate dragon carving Malfoy was working on. The detailing was spectacular. Malfoy had even managed to get the slit of the eye and the formidable expression just right. Before he could voice his appreciation, Malfoy sighed, scowled at the pumpkin and chucked it away.

“Oi!” Harry cried, casting a hurried Leviosa at the pumpkin and bringing it down gently. It landed unharmed a few feet away.

“Why did you do that?” Harry demanded.

“I got the hind leg all wrong,” Malfoy shrugged, reaching for another pumpkin. “It’s not perfect.”

Harry stared, somewhat flummoxed. “It looked pretty perfect to me!”

Malfoy smirked. “You’re just easily impressed.”

Harry rolled his eyes and sat down next to Malfoy, summoning the pumpkin as he did. It landed in his lap gently and he trailed a finger over the dragon, admiring the spikes of its tail and the arch of its body. Malfoy huffed, but continued his pumpkin mutilation in silence.

Harry sat quietly as well, before he was compelled to voice another question. “Why did you carve the pumpkin like that?”

“I got bored carving out those asinine faces when I was six,” Malfoy replied, haughtily cutting away pumpkin chunks. “I can do better. So I do.”

“And you’re still not happy,” Harry replied with a snort. He clutched possessively at his dragon pumpkin, as if Malfoy might just snatch it and chuck it away again.

The blond arched an eyebrow at him. “Perfection has nothing to do with being happy,” he replied finally.

“Sounds like something your father would say,” Harry replied with a grin.

Malfoy stopped his carving and turned to Harry. “He did, actually,” he replied quietly. Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He had a feeling that this was one of those times when anything he said would either result in Malfoy clamming up or storming off and neither was very desirable. So he just let the blond open up on his own.

Malfoy replied haltingly, the self assured confidence with which he did everything - including pumpkin slaughter - somehow missing in this simple, natural act of confiding in someone else.

“I used to…you know, just make them for fun. I’d just hack them any which way and they’d come out sort of wonky. But…but then Father would see them and he…he thought I should do better. So I started with…” he gestured vaguely at the heap of pumpkins behind him. All beautifully carved, intricately sculpted and then cruelly discarded.

Harry felt an irrational surge of anger at Lucius Malfoy. Suddenly, a lot of Draco’s irrational impulses were making sense - the constant competition, the need to excel at everything, the anger and frustration when he couldn't. Even at something as asinine as pumpkin carving, for Merlin’s sake.

Was that what all of this was about? Did he really not feel good enough because of his father?

Harry decided then and there that all Malfoys were idiots. Especially the one sitting next to him scowling at the rose shaped pattern cut across his pumpkin.

“ _Damn_ it,” Malfoy muttered, preparing to throw it away. Harry caught hold of his wrist just in time. “Don’t you dare,” he ordered quietly. “It’s perfect.”

Malfoy glared at him, grey eyes sparking with irritation and a hint of pain. “No, it isn't,” he replied stubbornly. "It's never perfect."

Harry smiled and placed a hand at the back of Malfoy’s head, pulling him in for a firm kiss. Draco’s eyelashes fluttered against his cheek as he blinked in surprise and Harry grinned against his mouth. When he finally released Draco, the blond just stared at him - flushed and stunned into silence. Quite a good look for him, Harry thought. He traced a finger against Draco’s swollen lips and repeated himself in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Perfect.”

For once a miracle occurred because Draco didn't argue with him. “If you say so, Potter” he mumbled, returning to poke at another pumpkin with a light flush tinting his cheeks.

Harry chuckled and started helping him with another masterpiece. The eyes turned out too slanted, the mouth was lopsided and somewhere along the line they decided it would be a good idea to spell the pumpkin blue.

But it didn’t matter. As far as Harry was concerned, nothing could be more perfect.


End file.
